The Way We Are
by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: 'Michael imagines that if he were to sink his teeth into the forbidden fruit, it'd taste just like his little brother.'


**Prompt for Michifer Week 2013:** Michael and Lucifer pre-Fall and sneaking around Heaven so they don't get caught.

* * *

"That was too close, Lucifer," the eldest archangel grits out, his hands reaching out to glide across his own stomach, letting his fingers dig into the inside of his thighs.

Heaven was in a flurry, working diligently on placing the finishing touches on Earth. Mountains have been erected like stone thrones and the more artistically-driven angels have slid into the Earth's surface, creating groves and rifts to form canyons, caves bespeckled with stones of a thousand colors and trees that twist and stretch towards the sky. God walked across the Earth, the chief architecture observing his blueprints reach fruition.

It made shared moments between Lucifer and Michael brief and rare. Michael has his duties with Heaven's armies, still hounding down pagans that were vehement about being pushed out of their own homes and watching it reformed into something new, and Lucifer has his duties as the minister of his Father's words.

The two would meet in the shadows of Heaven's mighty structures, letting their fingers intertwine, lips brush against the other and try to catch up on each other's day before they have to part. But as Heaven's streets continued to flourish with activity, even that became more difficult.

Lucifer is the one who grew bold and took matters into his own hands.

He'll slip into Michael's meetings, interrupting the flow of conversation by his presence, all eyes immediately fixated on the infallible Morning Star. Michael can only feel that incandescent smile Lucifer would give, pardon his presence and encourage them to continue on.

"Ignore me and carry on," Lucifer would always laugh as he'd take a seat behind him. It's impossible to ignore the Morning Star and Lucifer is vividly aware of such, letting his fingers pick and smooth any stray feather on Michael's wings. It's idle and nonchalant, slowly becoming more thorough that it makes Michael's limbs occasionally shudder.

Lucifer would preen him in the room — unsure whether to be interpreted as a sign of complete disrespect and blasphemy or familial concern — Michael giving in and allowing his wings to expand as he continued on. It's less to give Lucifer reach to his wings but shield his wandering hands out of fear one of his brethren will catch what his younger sibling is conspiring behind him. Lucifer would push his fingers into soft tufts of feathers where glands are producing oil. He'd drag his glossed fingers down his back underneath folds of fabric, massaging the underside of Michael's shoulder blades until they drift lower.

There's teeth nipping at the middle of his back in a courteous warning before slicked fingers push lower. Michael can feel Lucifer's fingers defiantly wiggle underneath him, intent and greedy until they're testing Michael's patience to maintain a dignified presence in the company of others.

Despite all of his resilience, Michael is quick to give in whether it's due to Lucifer or fear in getting caught. He'd tersely dismiss everyone, nearly snapping at them to leave before he turns on Lucifer.

Michael imagines that if he were to sink his teeth into the forbidden fruit, it'd taste just like his little brother. A rich push of sensations gliding against his tongue, a simple and sweet taste. Yet, having that citrus tang where the taste lingers in the back of one's throat and refuses to leave, the taste forever sharp and alive. Messy. No matter how delicate he may be or how orderly he may dissect the fruit, it's a mess against his fingers and the corners of his mouth.

Michael only feels a rush of pride and overt affection when his little brother demands for him. It's in the brief safety of the room does he let Lucifer push him onto the ground, nipping and sucking on his bottom lip until it flares a dark red. The younger angel will shower his stomach with kisses in gratitude, fingers dipping down until they sink in.

Michael swallows down a guttural sound and covers it up with a huffed out reprimand. It was too close. Too close to being discovered.

Lucifer only grins, neck already flushed and letting his fingers curl inside his older brother. "Not close enough, in my opinion," the light-haired archangel retorts and Michael shoots him back a frown as if he was scandalized by the response.

As much as Michael would prefer to pull Lucifer into his lap, watch the blond-haired angel enthusiastically ride him in all his plumage and grandiosity, he finds a rare sort of pleasure in moments like these. Lucifer idolizes his older sibling, thinks highly of Michael and it translates to choked whines and throaty moans in unconfined bliss when Lucifer observes Michael in a state of pleasure. Wet sounds would leave Lucifer, wings shaking and body flushed, so eager to please his older brother and push every sweet sound out of his stoic counterpart's mouth.

Lucifer is intent and detail-oriented, needing to know what spot did what and where to leave breathy kisses that makes Michael's wings twitch. He knows, now, where to push his fingers and what to do to get the older archangel writhing on the floor. Michael would let his hips arch, Lucifer watching in fascination the flex and play of muscles, corded Grace and space matter.

What he finds in these rare moments is this…

This indescribable look of Lucifer gazing down at him, mouth parted and looking as if he just fell in love again.

Like clockwork, Lucifer quickly leans down to press his lips hungrily against his, trying to shove every ounce of love into his mouth until it leaves their lips both numb. They do a sloppy dance of removing the rest of their clothing, only leaving the gold of their halos and the color of their wings.

Lucifer has his fingers back in Michael's wings, only parting when fingers are dripping in oil and Michael giving an encouraging nod.

In the brief peace the room can grant them, Michael is the flash of teeth and breathing as if he was one of his Father's Creation on Earth. He takes deep gulps of air and swallow his groans, letting it burn in his throat until Lucifer can kiss it back out into fruition. Lucifer gives a low sound, reminding him through a harsh exhale that he only has three fingers in and already Michael is at this peak. Yet, even without an audience or the threat of an audience, Michael's defiant and throws up a fight against himself.

Michael can feel his little brother soothe and relax his muscles, rubbing in circles at the heated flesh with his spare hand and lick the salt of his skin with the swipe of his tongue. Lucifer was always a few degrees too warm for comfort, Grace rivaling the heat of the sun and each touch leaves his body sweating. When the chill of the room finally hits him, Lucifer has drawn his fingers away, pushing the used fingers into his mouth to suck on it idly. Michael can feel his body shake at the unfolding image for him that he can't bother to feel frustrated at how unraveled he's becoming.

The eldest only shifts in agitation when he catches himself pushing his own legs further apart, lifting his hips impatiently. Lucifer doesn't mock him, only hums pleasantly before moving his head downward. The younger archangel drags his tongue across stretched rings of muscles and it's a scorching heat that leaves him gasping. Lucifer repeats the motion until his Grace fries around the touched area, Michael plunged in the sensation he's going through a heat stroke, body registering the touch as piercingly cold. Little tricks like these that drives winded sounds out of him, twists of grunts and gritted out whines he's not ready to release just yet.

Michael will bite his lip, feel the fight draining out of him and fingers reaching out to fist into his brother's hair. He pulls Lucifer closer to him, a driving demand for there to be more as he grounds his hips against his brother's mouth. Hands only push him further apart, mouth sucking and tonguing the ringlet of muscles until bliss uncoils Michael's resistance. It's a punched sound of bliss, scraped and rough around the edges like sandpaper but notes still hitting true.

Lucifer is quick to answer the spilled notes, groaning in turn against him. The Morningstar relishes in Michael giving in to the moment, sweet noises thick and full, digging his fingers into his scalp. It's temptation, something the archangel has been told to avoid, that has him turning his eyes up. Michael's lips are slick with spit and bright in color, head tossed back and the canvas of his throat exposed and flushed. He wants to mark the skin on his throat. He wants everyone to see what only he can do, but time is certainly against them.

Lucifer can only admire the strength he has to put on keeping Michael's hips put, the terrible beauty of Michael when he's plunged in this moment and how his name sounds like a prayer when it comes from Michael's wet lips like this. With a heated sound spilling from his lips and muscles seizing around the tip of Lucifer's tongue, Michael comes with a hoarse cry. The older archangel is left feeling heat course through his system, quietly fading into afterthoughts of fire that has him giving a content sound.

With a stretch of his fingers, Lucifer is immediately crawling over him, kissing his sweaty brow. Michael tangles his fingers into Lucifer's wings, struggling to catch his bearings in which always coaxes a gentle laugh out of Lucifer.

Even through hooded lids and an exhausted smile, Michael can still see that overwhelming pouring of love from his brother even after. Each time with a never-ending profession of love through simple looks and light words of jest. Every time they find each other through the thicket of their schedules, Lucifer finds the time to card his fingers through his sweaty locks and finish with an affectionate spill of laughter, "What would I do without you?" As if, somehow, he is the one who is the unwavering rock and foundation for them both when Michael would argue it was the other way around. But Michael teases back, slow and tongue thick with the warmth of lingering arousal as he pulls his brother closer to him:

"Crash and burn."


End file.
